


Dubious Decisions, Tea with Malfoy & Unexpected Reunions.

by MidnightJen



Series: Twenty Year Reunions [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, M/M, POV Hermione Granger, Parent Draco Malfoy, Parent Harry Potter, Parent Hermione Granger, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightJen/pseuds/MidnightJen
Summary: After almost twenty years living in Australia, Hermione finds herself bumping into Draco Malfoy on Platform 9 3/4. The fact she agrees to have tea with him is something she'll blame entirely on the fact he's dressed like one of the muggles she may or may not have seen that one (it really was just the once, honestly) time on her mother's Instagram. Maybe the fact his young daughter seemed to know her helped too.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Twenty Year Reunions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878748
Comments: 23
Kudos: 296





	Dubious Decisions, Tea with Malfoy & Unexpected Reunions.

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic fit absolutely nowhere in anything I'm currently attempting to write so I figured I'd just post it on its own and be done with it. It has, as usual, been briefly glanced over in place of proper editing.

It was the pastel pink hair and (highly fashionable) muggle clothes that threw her.

The day had been going wrong from the very beginning. She and Ron had only been back in England for three days – cutting it fine – and it was as though one thing after another had conspired to make this the most difficult move they’d ever experienced. Although she did suppose it was the only one. The first move to Australia to be with her parents had been almost accidental. They’d gone to see what could be done and then things had been hard and gotten harder and suddenly four years had gone by and they had a life in Australia.

After that, well, it had just seemed silly to move back. But now Rose was ready to start school and they’d talked and talked about it but in the end, it had come down to the simple fact that when they’d thought about having children, those children were always going to Hogwarts.

So they’d made the move. There’d been shouts and fights and all sorts of tantrums about leaving friends behind and Nan and Pop, too but there’d been excitement as well. She and Ron had told the kids so many stories growing up and probably made Hogwarts out to be more of an adventure than it really was, but she still wanted that for her children.

Yet here she was, September 1st, standing on Platform 9 ¾ and Ron wasn’t even there. It had been a massive mix-up with the delivery of their items via international portkey being delayed and then Hugo had gotten sick and instead of them having a nice family breakfast to celebrate Rose going off to school, there’d been a kiss and a hug at the door, Hugo looking green and here she was, standing on the Platform looking around at all the other parents and trying to put on a brave encouraging face for Rose who was so nervous and doing a marvellous job of hiding it.

Looking around, Hermione thought she recognised a few faces, but it had been so long, and she didn’t trust herself putting names to them. Instead she gave polite smiles and guided Rose through the crowd until she found herself not too far away from a tall slender man with pastel pink hair and the kind of muggle clothing that made it look as though he’d stepped right out of somebody’s fashion blog. (There was a distinct possibility she’d taken to scrolling through her mother’s Instagram account when nobody was looking.)

But she took him to be muggle – or at the very least muggle-born – because wizarding fashion had come a long way but there were still noticeable tells. She and Rose arrived by the train just as he was releasing two of the three children with him toward the train. Hermione only caught the back of a black head of messy hair and long red tresses as the two kids hopped up onto the train without a backward glance. She thought she heard the man mumble something about ungrateful children and homesickness, but Rose distracted her with another nervous question.

Soon enough Rose was on the train waving out the window and the train was leaving and so were the other parents, although the pink-haired man she’d come to stand next to lingered. His youngest daughter, her blonde hair flowing behind her as she ran, was chasing after the train. Hermione thought she saw a half a dozen heads pop out of window to wave to the girl, but she couldn’t make out any features.

After a moment, when she realised she’d been standing close enough to the man that this might be awkward, she spoke. ‘Does it get any easier?’ she asked.

There was a pause before the man spoke. He didn’t turn to look at her, eyes focused on watching his daughter (she looked about six) who was making her way back along the platform. ‘It does,’ he answered and there was something about his voice that seemed familiar to her.

‘That’s good to know,’ Hermione murmured softly.

There was a sigh and Hermione turned to face the man side on. He seemed to be debating with himself before he made a resigned little growl and turned to face her. There was a shiny silver stud in one nostril, pastel pink hair in a stylish undercut that went a long way to showing off sharp cheekbones. He was still wearing black skinny jeans with artfully torn knees, he still had on a soft looking t-shirt and a nicely cut grey jacket that reached mid-thigh. He was definitely wearing what she honestly thought were a pair of well-worn 1460s and he was very definitely not a muggle or muggle born.

‘Malfoy?’ she was aware how shrill her tone was, how incredulous she sounded but honestly that was just not something she’d been expecting.

‘Hello, Granger.’

Hermione knew she was gaping, but she didn’t know how to stop. She knew people changed but this – this wasn’t change this was something else entirely. He looked amused and attractive and she was horrendously aware all the sudden that she was creeping up on forty, was starting to get a little soft in the middle (she’d had two kids, alright?) and her clothes were boring and functional and – honestly this was Malfoy, what difference did that make?

He was still watching her with bemusement when his daughter reached them, and she immediately pressed herself against Malfoy’s legs and buried her face in his middle. Her voice was muffled but still clearly understood and Hermione found herself further at a loss as to what to even say because Draco Malfoy was standing on the platform where he’d just seen off two of his kids to Hogwarts and a third was pressed up against him and he looked happy and fit and – and muggle!

‘I want to go home, Papa,’ his daughter murmured.

Malfoy stroked her hair softly and bent to scoop her up into his arms, giving Hermione a good look at her. Her hair was darker than Malfoy’s had ever been, and she had the most startling green eyes. Hermione knew those eyes. Eyes like them, she corrected herself. Eyes she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.

She smiled kindly and the girl. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi,’ the girl answered with a shy smile.

‘Astara, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet,’ Malfoy said. He was looking at Hermione as he spoke with a strange look on his face she didn’t know how to read. ‘Astara, this is Hermione Granger, Granger, my daughter, Astara.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Hermione replied, softly because how else was she supposed to reply? It had been almost twenty years since she’d last seen Malfoy, a lot had clearly changed in those years. She didn’t know how much of his past this little girl knew or even if she understood what she did know. Hermione wasn’t about to be rude to him in front of his daughter.

Astara, though, was looking at her with wide eyed wonder. ‘Daddy tells stories about you!’ she exclaimed. She turned sparkling eyes on Malfoy. ‘Papa, is she really Hermione Granger?’

It took a moment for the words to register. “Daddy” and “Papa”. Hermione had never been slow but now she was starting to feel like she’d fallen into some sort of alternate universe because Draco Malfoy was…gay? Pureblood Draco Malfoy was _gay_? Hermione didn’t know what she was supposed to do with this information because that definitely didn’t fit with the Malfoy she knew.

Not that anything she saw right there on the platform did.

Malfoy looked at her and smirked and that smirk was every bit the Malfoy she remembered. ‘She really is that Hermione,’ Malfoy assured his daughter. To Hermione, Malfoy said, ‘Do you have time for tea? My husband would really like to see you.’

‘Husband?’ Hermione asked, somewhat hesitant.

Malfoy laughed. ‘Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Astara, my love, why don’t we take Hermione Granger home for tea, you think your dad would like that?’

Astara’s eyes brightened and she smiled. ‘Can we?’

Malfoy looked at Granger and his smile was full of amusement this time, like he had a huge secret that he was bursting to share but this one needed the right kind of moment to share. ‘What do you say, Granger? Up for some tea with an old friend?’

An old friend? Just who was Malfoy married to. She hesitated, eyes searching his face for some sort of clue. She saw the moment his smile wilted, saw the moment the amusement faded into seriousness.

‘I know you have no reason to trust me,’ he said, ‘but I really do think you want to come home for tea with us. There’s someone I think you’ll really want to see.’ He crooked an elbow in her direction, for a side-along.

She hesitated. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea.’

He sighed tiredly. ‘You’ve been gone nearly twenty years, Granger. We’ve all changed. I promise you’ll be perfectly safe, for what it’s worth.’

She hesitated, searching his eyes for any hint of deception and then, reached out and clasped his elbow. He grinned wickedly and she had a stomach lurching moment of fear that this was a terrible mistake before the apparition sucked her in and spat her out. She stumbled away from Malfoy and looked up, the dread that had only just started to form vanished when she found herself not in front of Malfoy Manor as she’d expected, but in front of a cosy looking house (it was far too large to be described as a cottage although that was the feeling she got while looking at it).

‘Oh,’ she said with befuddlement.

Astara was already running up the front path and she burst through the front door with Malfoy just behind her. He glanced at her over his shoulder and arched a brow and she found herself hurrying to catch up.

‘Daddy! Daddy!’ Astara shouted. ‘You’ll never guess who we met at the station. Daddy!’

A sulky voice from upstairs shouted, ‘Dad! Astara’s yelling!’

Hermione saw Malfoy roll his eyes before another male voice from somewhere deeper in the house shouted back, ‘So are you, Scorp!’

‘Daddy!’ Astara cried again, her excitement visible.

‘Bloody hell, I’m in the kitchen,’ the other voice called back with exasperation. This voice sounded familiar too, but Hermione couldn’t place it.

With trepidation she followed Malfoy through the house and into the kitchen where there was a tall, broad shouldered man with black messy hair standing in front of the sink washing glassware by hand. He was wearing grey joggers, his feet jammed into worn looking Ugg slippers and a black t-shirt with, she saw, when he turned around, the logo for a Quidditch team.

Hermione blinked. ‘Harry?!’

The man stared at her in surprise, green eyes just as vibrant as she remembered, although they weren’t hidden behind glasses anymore. ‘Hermione?’

‘Oh my god,’ Hermione breathed, she thought she might have been in shock. ‘Harry!’

‘Fucking hell,’ the man, who was definitely Harry, swore. He dropped the potion phial he’d been cleaning back into the sink with a clunk and after hastily wiping his hands on a tea towel, barrelled across the kitchen and swept her up into a crushing hug.

When he released her, he took a step back and got a good look at her.

‘Blimey, look at you.’

‘Harry,’ she said his name again in a daze and he laughed.

‘Molly said you were coming back, but I didn’t realise you were already here.’

‘Molly,’ Hermione repeated in a faraway voice.

‘I think she’s gone into shock,’ Malfoy advised.

She watched, detached, as Harry looked to Malfoy and then rolled his eyes. ‘You didn’t tell her.’

‘This sort of thing is really best shown.’

Harry laughed softly, a fond sound, and turned back to Hermione who thought she might have been having a stroke. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’

‘I – you’re married to Malfoy,’ she managed to stutter out.

Harry’s smile dropped. ‘Been together almost twenty years now,’ Harry informed her.

‘What?’

Harry’s expression softened. ‘It’s been a long time, Hermione.’

‘It really has,’ she agreed. And then, because she couldn’t help it, she blurted out, ‘You're gay?’

Harry laughed and gave her another hug. ‘Come sit down, we’ve got so much to catch up on. Draco can make tea.’

‘I – yes, okay, let’s do that.’

Harry laughed again and the sound was carefree and warm, and she didn’t know that she’d ever heard Harry laugh like that before.

But it had been almost twenty years. So much had changed. He was, he was –

‘Seriously, Malfoy?’

‘Love of my life,’ Harry replied with a cheeky grin.

‘I – I don’t even know what to say.’ She looked around the room he’d pushed her into, saw the photos on the mantle and the soft evidence of toys and love and laughter that practically leaked out of the room and she felt herself aching for all the things she didn’t know. ‘Tell me everything.’

And he did. Mostly.


End file.
